One Jump Ahead-ARC

by Mark L. Van Name

  Not for the first time, I wished some memories could encounter the same easy fate as the satellite's debris. I knew, though, that instead they would be with me forever, sharp and dangerous debris waiting in the places inside me that were as dark as the blackest space between stars.

  "Did you have to kill them all?" I said, regretting my tone as soon as the words left me, realizing too late that I was taking out my mood on Lim.

  She stared at me for a few seconds before answering. "Yes. I was working alone, in hostile territory with no definite count of the opposition, and I assumed time was critical." She walked a few steps away from me, then stopped and faced me. Her face was tight, her amazing beauty replaced by naked aggression. She rubbed her hands on her shorts. "First, I have to hope you're simply not thinking clearly yet, because you shouldn't have needed to ask that. Second, it was my mission, so it was my call, and you have no right to question it. Finally, I saved your carcass back there, so fewer questions and more gratitude would be appropriate."

  I knew she was right, but the force of her stance and her words hit me like an attack, and I wanted to hit back. I took a step toward her, and immediately and probably unconsciously she responded, shifting her weight to her rear leg and raising her hands slightly to her sides.

  What was wrong with me? I forced a long, slow, deep breath and closed my eyes. Before I opened them, I raised my hands, palms outward, and backed up slightly.

  "You're right," I said. "I'm wrong." I lowered my hands and stared directly at her. "I'm hurt, frustrated, and sick of the killing." I shook my head. "I've caused one mess after another since this whole thing began, and I left you the problem of cleaning up part of it. I have no right or reason to criticize. You did everything right."

  I paused as I pictured her face on the monitor and realized I was lying. What bothered me wasn't the killing but rather her pleasure in it, and what she did wrong was to feel that pleasure. Yet I'd known she'd respond that way when I approached her, so I had no right to chastise her for it. Worse, I realized then that I really would have done the same, and that I, too, would have opted for lethal force. No, I made myself face it directly: I would have killed them, and as each died I would have been glad it was them and not me. The differences between Lim and me were subtle: I would have found no joy in the killing per se, and I would have felt bad about it afterward. Did those differences really matter? Certainly not to the dead men or their families. In the end, though, valid or rationalization, real or illusion, they mattered to me. Looking at Lim, I knew there was no point in discussing any of this.

  I also knew, when I forced myself to confront the truth, that part of me was glad she'd killed the people who'd tortured me.

  Most of all, I was glad she was on my side. Hurting someone on my team was stupid, and stupider still was punishing them for doing the right thing—however they felt about it while they did it. I shouldn't have questioned her.

  "I'm sorry for what I asked," I continued, "and I'm sorry for questioning your choices. You're right that I'm not back to normal yet, and you're also right that the mission and the choices were yours to make. I greatly appreciate the risk you took to save me. I owe you."

  She studied me, searching for any trace of irony, and as much as I wanted to turn away I continued to look at her, trying not to hide my feelings, willing her to know I was telling the truth. For a few oddly intimate seconds we stood like that, the gulf of anger between us evaporating, our feelings exposed and connected by the experience and its intensity, and then she visibly relaxed and even forced a smile.

  "So get better, okay?" she said.

  She turned away again and headed to the small room Lobo had formed for her use. Over her shoulder, she added, "And do it fast, so we can figure out how to pay back Kelco and make some real money."

  I'm not sure how long I sat in the pilot couch, staring at the stars and dozing occasionally as my body finished cleansing itself of the drugs. The visions of Pinkelponker still trickled through my mind each time I lost consciousness, and each time I awoke with a start. Honest longing accompanied each bad dream, and in each one I wished with all my heart that I'd somehow been able to stop them from taking Jennie and that I had never returned Jasmine to Slake. At some moments in the dreams, I yearned for this longing to count for something, to have value, to make things at least a little better, but I knew it didn't, at least not to Jennie or to Jasmine.

  Jennie was long gone, vanished over a hundred years ago, her path unknown, even the very existence of her and our home world uncertain.

  Jasmine, though, remained in a different situation entirely, a captive of Kelco still imprisoned because I was foolish enough to let Slake manipulate me. As I recalled his approach to me I started to get angry again. I embraced the anger as the old friend it was. The more I considered the situation, the angrier I got. I'd been a pawn since this whole mess started, constantly walking on a path Slake and others in his employ were charting, reacting as they wanted and ultimately doing nothing in my own service. The anger spread inside me and cleared my thinking like a cool evening shower settling the dust of a hot day.

  I resolved to save Jasmine and to make Kelco and Slake pay in as many ways as possible for using her—and for using me.

  I walked back to Lim's room and knocked. She stepped out, a wary expression on her face.

  "Yes?" she said.

  "I'm fed up," I said. "I'm done letting Kelco control me, and I'm done helping them. No more. We're going to get Jasmine back, and we're going to make them pay."

  "About time," she said. "I particularly like the pay part."

  "We can't do it alone, though," I said. "Now that I understand how many Kelco resources Slake can bring to bear, I realize we're going to need to involve some others."

  "Fine," she said, "as long as their take doesn't come out of my paycheck."

  "It won't," I said, "because I believe I've figured out how all of us can make money in different ways, so everyone except Slake can win." I stepped slightly back from her. "There is one potential problem, though."

  "What?"

  "One of the groups we need to help us is the Saw. We have to go see Earl, and we have to work with him."

  She stiffened, but she kept her face calm. "If what you want is an armed team, then the Saw isn't necessary. My group is more than capable—"

  "That's not the point," I said, cutting her off. "We do need soldiers, but what we need more are Earl's contacts, his relationship with the FC."

  "You have no better options?" she said.

  "None," I said. "We need the Saw and the FC, and Earl is our only way into both."

  "Then it's not a problem," she said, the look on her face not at all agreeing with her words. "It's just business, right?"

  "Absolutely," I said.

  "Then set it up," she said. With a smile she added, "I'm sure he'll be as happy to see me as I'll be to see him."

  Chapter 25

  When I strolled into the Saw recruiting center this time, Gustafson was waiting for me, standing by the door to the side room in which we'd met on my first visit. His readiness wasn't a good sign, because it meant either the people or the software scanning the exterior monitors were watching for me. I supposed it couldn't be helped, but it was one more reason to consider a major change in location when this was all over. I gave Gustafson a genuine smile—I found it hard not to like him—and followed him into the room.

  He seemed less happy to see me. "I haven't heard from you," he said, "and that wasn't the way this was supposed to work."

  "How secure is this area?" I said.

  "Secure enough for us."

  "Maybe not. Top, I haven't been in contact because my plan lasted about as long as a new private's enthusiasm."

  "I take it, though," he said, "that you still want something from us."

  "And I have quite a bit to offer," I said. "We're talking business, not charity. Trust me, I haven't been on R&R."

  He studied my face for a bit, then nodded,
rubbed his hands on his pants, and sat back. "Fair enough. Sorry for the welcome. We've been wondering what was happening."

  "We need to meet with Earl again," I said.

  "You and I can't handle this?"

  "I'm quite sure we can't," I said.

  "Okay," he said, nodding his head again. "How soon?"

  "As soon as possible. In fact, the earlier today, the better."

  "He won't like that," Gustafson said. "I hope you know him well enough to understand exactly how little he'll appreciate having to change his routine."

  "I understand, but enough's at play that we have to meet, and it has to be somewhere completely secure physically and with extremely secure comm links. As near as I can tell, with Earl's level of caution that means we'll have to use a Saw facility on the base."

  "Of course."

  "You can give him some positive motivation," I said.

  "What's that?"

  "The opportunity for the Saw and the FC is quite possibly greater than before."

  Gustafson laughed. "Every time somebody offers me an opportunity, I scan for escape routes. What's this one going to cost us?"

  "If we go with my plan," I said, "a little more risk and a little more involvement."

  "Oh, he'll love this," Gustafson said. "I think I'll save that part for you to explain."

  "That's only fair," I said, "but there is one other change I think you'll want to warn him about."

  Gustafson raised an eyebrow in question. "And that would be?"

  "Lim is in this all the way," I said. "I owe her. She has to be in the meeting, and she and her people and the Saw will probably have to work together before this is over."

  He laughed. "Well that's just perfect. I'm sure the colonel will be thrilled to see her."

  I raised my hands and shrugged in the ages-old "what can you do?" gesture. "Sorry."

  Gustafson stood and smoothed the front of his uniform, which was already flawless. "Nothing to do but do it," he said. "Call me in an hour, and I—" He paused and chuckled. "—or my replacement should have the particulars for you."

  Two and a half hours later the afternoon sun was high in the sky, the air was warm and smelled slightly of the ocean on the other side of Bekin's Deal, and another gorgeous summer day was in full swing on Lankin. Lim and I were missing the day's beauty, physically together in the cab but mentally in separate, private worlds. The guard at the Saw base gate processed our IDs quickly and waved us through. The cab dropped us at a building that looked exactly like the one I'd visited last time but which sat far closer to the center of the base.

  Gustafson walked out of the nearest door as soon as the cab pulled away.

  "Gunny," he said to me.

  "Top."

  "Lim," he said.

  "Top, is it going to be like that?" she said with a smile. She wore a simple coverall, having abandoned a Law dress uniform at my request, but even the coverall couldn't conceal her figure. When she smiled and turned on the charm, she might as well have been a princess in jewels, as incandescent and hard to gaze at directly as a sun. She opened her arms and stared straight at him.

  Gustafson melted, though I couldn't tell whether it was the act of an old friend abandoning a forced distance or the foolishness of just another male who flew too close to her and couldn't resist the heat. He hugged her and said, "Not out here, Alissa. Not out here."

  They held the hug for a few seconds, then both said, almost in unison, "Good to see you again."

  Gustafson stepped back. "And you," he said. He nodded to the building behind us. "In there, though . . ."

  "I understand," she said. "I'm no happier about being here than he is about seeing me, but it's business, that's all."

  "You know that doesn't help," he said. "If anything, business has been the problem all long."

  "You're not starting with me, are you?" she said.

  Gustafson held up his hands in surrender. "Not me. I know better." He turned to me. "Anything else I need to know before we meet with the colonel?"

  "No," I said, "and certainly there's nothing we need to discuss out here."

  He nodded, turned, and headed to the door. "Then let's not keep him waiting any longer."

  We followed him inside and passed through three isolation areas, each one, Gustafson explained, running a different type of weapons and comm gear check. After the third, we walked down a long windowless hallway and turned to a burnished blue sadwood door on the left near the end. Gustafson rapped twice with his knuckles. The resulting sound was so muted I was sure the door was thick enough that no one on the other side could possibly have heard his knock. What they could hear didn't matter, of course. The knock was a formality; the staff manning the hallway monitors would decide if and when we could enter.

  The handle clicked so quietly I barely registered the sound. Gustafson pulled open the door and waved us in.

  We stepped into a conference room that was about as thematically far as it could be from the tiny containment area in which Earl, Gustafson, and I had sat. Where that space had been casual, almost intimate, this one was formal and large, at its center a conference table of the same polished sadwood as the door. Eighteen chairs, each a blue leather that perfectly complemented the wood, surrounded the table, one at each end and eight along each side. The walls were floor-to-ceiling displays, some currently acting as subdued wallpaper, others showing Saw logos, images from past campaigns, and maps of major worlds—Lankin the visually largest among them—for which the Saw currently held contracts. Aside from the walls, the room was devoid of machines; no doubt Earl used human attendants to make the visiting brass feel important. I've never particularly liked formality, but I had to admit the space was impressive. I assumed this was where Earl met with the FC and the local corporations when they had formal reviews; no one organizing a Saw staff meeting would ever have booked a room like this.

  Earl hadn't worried about anything more than security when he'd first met with me, so either he was showing off for Lim, which I considered unlikely, or he wanted home-turf advantage. My bet was it was the latter.

  One feature I was sure this room shared with our previous meeting place was security. Any group that Earl considered important enough to meet here was one he'd consider dangerous enough to contain electronically.

  I glanced at Lim to gauge her reaction. Her smile remained, but it was tight now and lacking in any real warmth. I hoped Earl had also wanted to put some distance between them.

  A section of the wall opposite us slid open, and Earl walked in. Dressed in his standard working blues and walking with the same perfect posture as always, at first glance he looked far less nervous than I knew Lim was. As I watched him approach, however, I realized he was uncharacteristically not looking Lim in the eyes, and his back and expression were rigid, set in place by force of will. I have to give him credit, though: He never slowed or faltered. He walked up to Lim, shook her hand, and said, "Lim." He shook my hand, said "Moore," and headed to the center of the left side of the table. The way he spoke to me wasn't a good sign—I was "Jon" in the last meeting—but I should've expected it.

  Gustafson sat beside him. Lim and I took seats opposite them.

  "Before you explain why we're meeting," Earl said, staring at me, "I have an obligation to address certain complaints the FC has tasked me to handle. Specifically, Xychek's local security chief, Larson, has asked us to investigate the kidnapping of Jose Chung, their executive in charge here. He apparently satisfied himself that neither Kelco nor any other corporation is involved, so he believes that makes the issue our problem. Technically, he's correct." I opened my mouth to speak, but Earl held up his hand. I stayed quiet. "In addition, a Kelco R&D security man, Amendos, who to the best of our ability to determine is normally stationed on Macken, visited here to tour one of their small research sats."